


The Help

by Melas



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Characters will be added when they appear, F/M, Gen, Loosely based on The Help, Miscarriages, Reader based of Celia Foote, Reader is married, Toriel is a maid, monster racism, or a housekeeper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melas/pseuds/Melas
Summary: You found yourself with quite the conundrum. You need help maintaining your house, but you want to prove to your husband that you can do it alone.So, how do you do that? By hiring secrete help of course!Oh, and would you look at that, there seems to be a nice monster lady looking for a job!





	The Help

**Author's Note:**

> Why have I posted another story? Because I hate myself.
> 
> This plot bunny came to me while watch The Help a few months back, and I just found in while cleaning my files and I thought, "Eh. What the hell?" I don't know if something like this has been done before, I haven't read every fanfic and I mainly stay in the Reader x Sans portion..... I should branch out.....
> 
> So you, the reader, are inspired by Celia Foote from the movie, never read the book but I should. This means, (Spoilers???), that there will be talks of miscarriages. Nothing graphic, but I'll try to remember to put warnings up for chapters that mention it. 
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of miscarriage.

You were at your wits end.

 

Ready to pull out your recently cut hair wits end.  

 

Teeth grinding, manicured nail biting wits end.

 

Ready to curl up and cry till you died wits end.

 

Your husband was due back in three days time from a business trip and the house was a mess. And it wasn’t because of little troublemakers running amuck, and it wasn’t because you threw a wild party while he was away, nor was it because someone broke in. 

 

So how did your house get to be in such a mess? 

 

Simple, really. 

 

Stupid, actually.

 

You tried to cook.

 

Key word is  _ tried. _

 

To put it in layman terms, you were not a very good housewife.

 

You couldn’t clean worth a damn, or cook worth a damn.

 

One time you spilt a bit of wine on the carpet and you rushed to grab the carpet cleaner, only you were in such a hurry that you somehow grabbed the toilet cleaner, and let's just say it didn’t work very well.

 

In the kitchen, the only things you knew how to make was canned tuna and chicken salads, and rice.

 

It’s hard to mess up rice.

 

The only thing you were good at was gardening, the four rose bushes in the backyard could attest to that, but all that didn’t keep a working husband happy!

 

You let loose a strangled scream of frustration and kicked the oven, only to begin hopping around on one foot and holding your aching one. After a few seconds of that you voted for sitting down safely in the middle of your kitchen floor. You crossed you legs, placed your elbows on you knees and held your head while trying you best not to cry.

 

You needed help, you knew that. You couldn’t properly maintain a single room, let alone a two story, small, mansion. Oh, but you wanted to prove that you could be a good wife! A proper wife that deserved the loving man that was you husband. You wanted to show him, and his family, that it wasn’t a mistake that he married you, that you could be useful. 

 

You husband was an honorable man, and it showed when he married you. You found out you were pregnant with his child and instead of dropping you, like you expected, he asked for your hand. 

 

You accepted happily.

 

The wedding was a little rushed, being only a couple weeks after you told him, but it was perfect none the less. Small, hardly any family on either side, but your few friends made it and you told yourself that that’s all that mattered.

 

You were happy.

 

Then you miscarried not even a month after your honeymoon.

 

Distraught, you fully expected him to divorce you seeing as the only reason he married you was due to the child you carried, the child you lost. Yet he did not. He comforted you in your time of need and told you that you both could try again when you were ready. And, boy, did you love him even more for that.

 

Four years into married life and you have yet to produce a child, and your husbands stuffy, upper class, family were beginning to hound him for divorce. It was ridiculous really. It was the twenty-first century and yet they still held onto the notion that women should be in the kitchen and pregnant by the age of twenty. 

 

But you could see why they wanted a child, preferably a son, from you husband. He was the heir to one of the world's largest chains of superstores, McKalister’s. The stores have been around for nearly four generations and the head of the company was always passed down to first born sons. And the family was getting anxious, you husband was getting ready to step into his father’s shoes, and he had no son as his own heir.

 

And they blamed you.

 

And you began to blame yourself.

 

You knew it wasn’t fair to yourself, but you still did. You weren’t perfect, you weren’t what the family wanted as a daughter-in-law, you weren’t what your family wanted as a daughter. Hell, you weren’t even what you wanted as a person! 

 

But all this stress? The stress to be a good wife, to provide a child….. It wasn’t healthy. You knew that.

 

You needed help, but you wanted,  _ needed _ , to prove that you could do this alone.

 

You sighed heavily, damn your womanly pride. If only you could hire a maid or something who would leave before your husband got home so it would look like you did all the work……

 

You blinked rapidly several times at the thought before your head shot up, a smile of triumph on your face, “That’s it!”

 

You moved quickly to stand up so that you could go look up a number for a maid service, only to be stopped by a puddle of undetermined liquid. The moment your foot stepped in it you lost traction and slipped, easily losing your balance and falling backwards back onto your rear end.

 

Groaning in pain, and mildly winded, you decided to lay where you were and go find that number in a few minutes. You needed a break before you broke something.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what you think? Continue or nay?
> 
> Any questions, comments, concerns, haikus or poems?
> 
> See a mistake, let me know and I'll fix it as soon as I can.


End file.
